


M.M.

by missdibley



Series: The Red Nose Diaries [75]
Category: British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Christmas, Existing Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Foreplay, Making Out, Prince Harry - Freeform, Roast Chicken, Snogging, engagement chicken, meghan markle - Freeform, red nose day tom - Freeform, red nose day tom hiddleston - Freeform, rnd!tom - Freeform, the red nose diaries, tom hiddleston - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-17 23:04:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13087305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missdibley/pseuds/missdibley
Summary: Does engagement chicken still work if you’re already engaged to be married?





	M.M.

Upon returning from their evening walk, Bobby burst into a run as soon as he was within a few feet of home. He leapt at the door, scrabbling and panting eagerly while Tom stood over him, wondering at the puppy’s eagerness.

“Young man, whatever has gotten into you…” He opened the door, and when it swung open Tom laughed at the sight of Bobby sprinting right for the kitchen. It was there that he found the dog in front of the oven, sniffing at the scent of roast chicken that filled the air.

Carmen crouched next to him, scratching behind his ears and cooing.  _ “¿Quien es esto cachorrito? ¿Eres mi cachorrito favorito? Sí, mi Beto, mi Bobbito es tan guapo.”  _ When she popped back up, Carmen laughed when Tom took her in his arms and began to leave wet, sloppy kisses all over her face and neck.

“Ew! Oh my god!” She made a show of cleaning her face with a tea towel. “I see you’ve picked up some snogging pointers from the dog.”

“Bobby’s very wise,” Tom said with mock seriousness.

“Is he now?” Carmen peered down at the dog, who was licking himself.

“Well, he’s just relaxing,” replied Tom. “Because he’s home.”

Carmen shook her head, then looked at something on her laptop. It was open, sitting on the counter next to a cutting board and knives, and a pan of brownies that had just come out of the oven.

“What are you reading?” Tom leaned in over Carmen’s shoulder, and read out loud from her MacBook:

[ _ “There is nothing as delicious (or as impressive) as a perfectly roasted chicken. If you have an Ina Garten–level roasted-chicken recipe, it’s a game changer. I bring that to dinner parties and make a lot of friends.” _ ](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.goodhousekeeping.com%2Flife%2Fentertainment%2Fa39356%2Fwho-is-actress-meghan-markle-interview%2F&t=ZjIxZDY5NjIwNTU0OTcxYzBiNTFlMWRhMjZmMzZjZjdkZmE0ZmJlYSxXZEMxeVdQdA%3D%3D&b=t%3AZRjenswnf6X1Z5plOhGg1w&p=http%3A%2F%2Foeffsee.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F168778802508%2Fmm&m=0)

He sat back and frowned. “But my friends already like you.”

“I know it.” Carmen scowled.

“So what’s the problem?”

“I don’t have an ‘Ina Garten-level roasted chicken recipe’, Tom. I can follow recipes, but I’m not much of a cook. All I’ve got is my grandfather’s chicken adobo recipe.”

“I bet Meghan Markle doesn’t have one of those,” replied Tom, earnestly.

“But if she did,” Carmen muttered. “I’m sure it would be perfect.”

“So is this Ms. Markle’s… I mean, Ina Garten’s roast chicken we’re having for supper?”

“Yes,” replied Carmen. “The very chicken Meghan Markle was making when Prince Harry proposed.”

“Is it?” Tom took a seat at the kitchen table, leaning back in his chair as he crossed his arms. “Button?”

“Hmm?” Carmen considered checking the chicken again, but instead got back down on the floor to sit with Bobby. The dog, happy to have company, promptly crawled into her lap.

“Why didn’t you make me chicken when I proposed?”

“I think it was more like…” Carmen let Bobby nip at her fingers. “Meghan made the chicken, and he proposed. It’s not like she made the chicken to celebrate their engagement.”

“I see,” said Tom slowly, eyebrow arched.

“It’s a thing, Tom. Engagement chicken.” Carmen rolled her eyes. “Women wanting their boyfriends to propose make this roast chicken for supper…”

“And it works?”

“Tom, no less than three assistants came into work this week flashing rings and talking about ‘Meghan’s chicken.’”

Tom’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

“‘Tis the season, baby. Christmas and engagement chickens.”

He brightened, smiling widely. “So this is the chicken you owe me, then?”

“What?”

“The chicken.” Tom got to his knees, kneeling on the floor. “From when I proposed before.”

“Sporty, I don’t  _ owe _ you chicken for proposing to me,” Carmen retorted.

“But all those other fellows got roast chicken when they did.”

“Yes, because those girls  _ needed _ the magic of engagement chicken.”

“But you did not?” Tom shifted so that he now sat next to Carmen, back against the cupboards, with the dog nestled between them.

“Nope!”

“So why did I propose,” Tom asked, “If there was no chicken to be had?”

Carmen pretended to hit him in the stomach. “Jerk.”

“Minx,” Tom whispered in her ear. He pulled Carmen close when she tried to squirm out of reach. “Brat.”

Carmen, in leaning away, exposed the length of her throat to him. Tom’s lips sought the crook of her neck, and before long he had her pinned beneath him. He kissed her sweetly, and then lasciviously. Carmen’s lips were salty from cooking, and fingers running through his felt so good.

Bobby tried to insinuate himself between them, attempting to participate in what looked like a good bout of playful wrestling. But he was rebuffed, usually with a gentle nudge or a push, as they went about snogging.

“I bet…” Carmen gasped. “I bet Harry and Meghan didn’t make out on the floor when  _ they _ got engaged.”

“A shame, then,” Tom murmured, sucking on Carmen’s neck. “It’s quite nice, really.”

“You know what would be nicer?” Carmen whispered. She slid her hand between them, seeking his belt buckle. When Tom rolled his hips into hers, she squeaked.

“Just tell me this. Oooh, Button… “ Tom leaned on his side, giving them both a little room to begin undoing their jeans. “When does the chicken come out?”

“Uh…” Carmen moaned when Tom dug his fingers into her hips. “Like, twenty minutes.”

“Perfect,” Tom growled. “Five minutes to have it off, and then fifteen minutes to set the table.”

“Five minutes?!”

“Okay, ten minutes,” Tom huffed. “I appreciate your faith in me.”

“Well,” Carmen said sweetly. “You’re no Prince Harry, but I guess you’ll do.”

**Author's Note:**

> More about engagement chicken: ["How to Make Engagement Chicken"](https://www.glamour.com/story/engagement-chicken).


End file.
